dissertation successfully; yes, they would probably stay in Maine for the time being; honeymoon destinations were limited by a graduate income, but there was a chance they could borrow a friend’s family’s condo in the Caribbean for a week. Pretty soon the conversation switched back to our work at Fort Providence and then early sites in general, and then everyone started to splinter off again, group energy renewed.
My energy, however, was gone for the day, and my head was starting to pound with the noise and excitement. After a decent interval and the second round, which for me was a quick soda, I excused myself, hugged the happy couple, and made my way toward my room. Leaving the bar was a good start, but my room was still an oven, and I knew that even if I sat up long enough to drink some water to stave off dehydration, it would still be an hour before I had any chance of getting to sleep in there.
I got the water and cracked the window, but I knew I couldn’t stay in there to roast until it cooled off. Checking the thermometer, I saw that it had gone down ten degrees since my complaints, and was probably repaired for the night, but I decided to pull on my boots, jeans, and parka and go out to look at the moon in the snow. By the time I got bored and cold, it might be possible to get some sleep.
I actually made it outside without getting caught by anyone in the lobby or the bar, which was something miraculous, even considering the conference attendance was lowerbecause of the canceled flights. Although our group was often close to five hundred or more, I heard we were down to about four hundred today. There’s always someone wandering around at conferences, and it’s always a pick of the draw to see whose floor you’ll be on, what famous person you’ll run into in the restroom, or who’ll be sharing your table at the boxed lunch.
The cold air shocked me as I stepped out of the revolving door on the side of the lobby. The wind had died down somewhat, but it was still snowing like fury, and the moon was nowhere to be found, of course, behind the clouds. There was plenty of ambient light from the Christmas-lit hotel and the parking lot, and I figured that I could follow the walks around to the back and maybe even down to the lake, if the outside lights were still on there.
The walks weren’t shoveled out, but it still wasn’t deep enough to be a nuisance yet: The storm was swinging up the coast and we were still inland from it. The walking was easy, through the light fluffy stuff, and was actually easier than it had been earlier, as the slush had frozen solid, into an uneven surface. Now the new snow made it easier to keep from sliding. As long as I brushed myself off good before it melted on me when I returned inside, I wouldn’t even get all that wet.
I love walking through snow, if only for the acoustical tricks that it plays on you, deadening sound, distorting the sonic impression of distance, and giving you a sense of solitude that is altogether too difficult to come by in the crowded Northeast. One of the benefits of doing archaeology out of cities, or traveling to places off the beaten path, was the comparative quiet. Or rather, there was a different, quieter set of sounds that weren’t purely human in origin. But there weren’t even any animal sounds now—everyone but me was safely snugged away for the duration of the storm—and the creak of branches overhead, the wind coming across thefrozen lake, and the feathery soft sound of landing snowflakes were worth escaping the cacophony inside. The noise of my crunching boots made very little impression on the woods surrounding the hotel.
The long, shallow path that led down to the lake was not only lit, it was pristine. The landscapers had created a series of many short steps punctuated by longer, level landings, so the trip down was designed to be inviting and gentle. I decided that I felt warm enough to continue to the bottom, and then would head
My energy, however, was gone for the day, and my head was starting to pound with the noise and excitement. After a decent interval and the second round, which for me was a quick soda, I excused myself, hugged the happy couple, and made my way toward my room. Leaving the bar was a good start, but my room was still an oven, and I knew that even if I sat up long enough to drink some water to stave off dehydration, it would still be an hour before I had any chance of getting to sleep in there.
I got the water and cracked the window, but I knew I couldn’t stay in there to roast until it cooled off. Checking the thermometer, I saw that it had gone down ten degrees since my complaints, and was probably repaired for the night, but I decided to pull on my boots, jeans, and parka and go out to look at the moon in the snow. By the time I got bored and cold, it might be possible to get some sleep.
I actually made it outside without getting caught by anyone in the lobby or the bar, which was something miraculous, even considering the conference attendance was lowerbecause of the canceled flights. Although our group was often close to five hundred or more, I heard we were down to about four hundred today. There’s always someone wandering around at conferences, and it’s always a pick of the draw to see whose floor you’ll be on, what famous person you’ll run into in the restroom, or who’ll be sharing your table at the boxed lunch.
The cold air shocked me as I stepped out of the revolving door on the side of the lobby. The wind had died down somewhat, but it was still snowing like fury, and the moon was nowhere to be found, of course, behind the clouds. There was plenty of ambient light from the Christmas-lit hotel and the parking lot, and I figured that I could follow the walks around to the back and maybe even down to the lake, if the outside lights were still on there.
The walks weren’t shoveled out, but it still wasn’t deep enough to be a nuisance yet: The storm was swinging up the coast and we were still inland from it. The walking was easy, through the light fluffy stuff, and was actually easier than it had been earlier, as the slush had frozen solid, into an uneven surface. Now the new snow made it easier to keep from sliding. As long as I brushed myself off good before it melted on me when I returned inside, I wouldn’t even get all that wet.
I love walking through snow, if only for the acoustical tricks that it plays on you, deadening sound, distorting the sonic impression of distance, and giving you a sense of solitude that is altogether too difficult to come by in the crowded Northeast. One of the benefits of doing archaeology out of cities, or traveling to places off the beaten path, was the comparative quiet. Or rather, there was a different, quieter set of sounds that weren’t purely human in origin. But there weren’t even any animal sounds now—everyone but me was safely snugged away for the duration of the storm—and the creak of branches overhead, the wind coming across thefrozen lake, and the feathery soft sound of landing snowflakes were worth escaping the cacophony inside. The noise of my crunching boots made very little impression on the woods surrounding the hotel.
The long, shallow path that led down to the lake was not only lit, it was pristine. The landscapers had created a series of many short steps punctuated by longer, level landings, so the trip down was designed to be inviting and gentle. I decided that I felt warm enough to continue to the bottom, and then would head
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